


Birds of a Feather

by snarechan



Category: Transformers, Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-03
Updated: 2010-09-03
Packaged: 2017-10-21 13:09:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/225545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarechan/pseuds/snarechan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trent has an ordinary job, doing ordinary things, except one night it leads him to an extraordinary discovery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birds of a Feather

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the requested prompt of: _TFA Sentinel Prime and Trent DeMarco; pot, calling kettle black._ Whoever you are FF.net anon, I hope you see this and it’s what you were hoping for? No set universe, which is why I left off the ‘Prime’ in Sentinel’s name for this story. I leave it up to the readers to decide.
> 
> A hearty thank you goes out to Keppiehed for always finding the time to look over my work! Any remaining mistakes are mine alone and welcome to be pointed out.

At three in the morning, the towing company Trent worked for got a call from local police reporting an illegally parked snow plow truck in the city that needed to be impounded. The business was open twenty-four seven, and he took the night shift to avoid having to do the very task asked of this establishment, but once in awhile they’d get a notice or request for pick up.

He’d grudgingly left the tiny black and white television that received five channels and the super hot intern that manned the desk to do his paid duty. He muttered nasty obscenities under his breath the entire trip to his assigned wrecker and to the location of the offending vehicle. Not for the first time did he regret his choice of accepting the position, even if he was paid to do essentially nothing and the owner was understanding of his football schedule come the college season.

The bright blue and orange truck he was called to remove was still in the space right beside a fire hydrant. A white and red printed sign not too far away also warned off trespassing between the hours of one and six in the morning. He rolled his eyes at the driver’s blatant stupidity and parked in reverse behind the vehicle, getting out to adjust the flatbed and prepare the truck to be hoisted onto it.

When he approached the snow plow, his hands glanced touching the bumper. This startled him, so he shook his head to clear it. Trent tried again and again, his gloved fingers missing the metal each time. He checked the side of the truck and noticed that it _had_ moved out of reach – the tires were now touching a metal grate in the street when they previously hadn’t.

“What the shit?” he asked, walking around to the driver’s side and promising to pummel anyone if this was their idea of a joke. It was going on four am, and he was missing _I Love Lucy_ re-runs back at the office. Trent couldn’t make out any shapes for certain through the tinted windows , but there really didn’t appear to be anyone inside. He pressed his hand and face against the glass, trying to get a better view, when the car set off a wailing alarm and _jolted_.

He screamed in surprise at both the sudden noise and the movement, jumping several feet away. Then, to his further horror, the blue vehicle began to fall apart – or so he thought in the beginning. Instead of parts disassembling to the ground, they remolded, shifting into a torso, arms, legs, and a head.

“How _dare_ you manhandle me with your squishy, organic-laced extremity?”

Trent hadn’t a clue what an ‘extremity’ was, but that was a minor point on a growing list of More Important issues to deal with. Twin turquoise light bulbs were focused on him – Trent figured they must be like eyes – and he stared back, mouth agape and bladder barely holding it together.

“Disgusting, gross, nasty creature! Can’t you see you’re interfering with _delicate_ operations-”

“Aaaaaaaaaaah!”

In response to Trent’s scream, the transformed car yelled, too, higher-pitched than Trent’s. A battle of shouting commenced; whenever one of them finished, the other would start back up again, until Trent stopped. He had to – he ran out of air.

“W-w-why are you screaming?” Trent demanded from his place on the pavement. His legs had given out at some point during the loud exchange.

“I thought you were unleashing an alien communications scrambler or siren mind control signal,” the robot said, indignant. “Why were _you_ screaming?”

“Because-” he was scared, but he couldn’t admit that, not to a potential enemy force of the human race. “Because I was… It was a fight or flight response, alright? I was screaming a battle cry! Yeah, that’s it. But now I see you’re not a threat to me, so it’s okay to stop.”

“Not a threat? Not a _threat?_ ” the blue and orange vehicle asked, straightening, and for the first time Trent took particular notice of the shield and lance it was holding. “I’m Sentinel, one of the top graduates of the Autobot Academy and the greatest member of the Cybertron Elite Guard! I could end you _right here._ ”

Trent gulped, but tried not to lose his cool. For claiming to be the best, the strange truck sounded like he was blowing hot air out of his exhaust pipes. An egotist could recognize another with little effort.

“Oh yeah? Well, my GPA is 3.0 and I’m lead quarterback. I’ve tackled linebackers bigger and meaner than you are!” he replied, pointing a daring finger at him. Trent was shocked when the robot winced away from the motion. Testing a theory, he returned to his feet and took a step closer; Sentinel took a step back.

“…Are you frightened of me, or something?”

“ _No_ ,” the snow plow said snappishly, but continued to skirt around Trent’s advancements. “I’m not afraid of anything, much less an itty-bitty _speck_ of-”

Sentinel screeched when Trent touched an orange plate on its foot, a tiny nozzle popping out of its finger and spraying foamy cleaning fluid over the area. Trent couldn’t resist laughing as the robot hopped up and down on one foot to get the job done, freaking out the entire time – complaining of rust or acid. It was hard to make out exactly which.

“Enough of that! I’ve already wasted valuable time on you. State your business and leave.”

“I was sent here to tow you to an impound lot. You are – _were_ – illegally parked.”

“Nonsense. The area is clear.”

“See that red thingy sticking out of the ground? And that sign over there? You can’t park here. They say so,” Trent reasoned. “Can’t you read? Don’t you know _any_ laws?”

A surge of the robot’s shoulders was like a shrug of indifference as it said, “I’m above such silly earthling rules. But I guess I can _humor_ you, if that’s what it takes to get rid of you.”

That was the end of the discussion as far as Sentinel was concerned. Trent had to scramble to avoid getting caught in the machine’s change to a snow plow truck again. The tires spun on the street, creating smoke as the tires burned, and then he was off – driving on the wrong side of the road – and gone. Trent coughed and fanned the burnout from his face with the baseball cap he’d stuffed in his jeans pocket, staring in confusion at his empty surroundings and wondering if what he’d witnessed was real or not.

-Fin-


End file.
